


Out of the Storm, Into the Light

by salishseaselkie



Series: A Song of Broken Treasures [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: F/M, Mac Eanraig Origin, Red Iron Mercenary, To Be Continued, long-fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-20
Updated: 2016-05-19
Packaged: 2018-06-03 09:33:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6605695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/salishseaselkie/pseuds/salishseaselkie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Carver Hawke has always lingered within the shadow of his do-good older sister, noticed by few for his own merits. When a mysterious girl washes up on the docks of Kirkwall, evidently shipwrecked and without memory of her previous life, Leandra insists on taking her in, and despite - even due to her brusque nature, Carver finds himself drawn to her. It is with great surprise, however, that he discovers she is also drawn to him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. As I Watch Over You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carver and Geneva care for a shipwrecked girl, only for him to discover that there is more common ground between them than he might have guessed.

Carver Hawke only ever had existed in his sister’s shadow.

Geneva Hawke, seven years his senior, was bright, diplomatic, and idealistic. When she wished to make herself known, many were drawn to her. Many relied on her. Many envied her and wished her dead, wished her Tranquil.

The details of how people thought of Geneva did not interest Carver, however. All he saw was the attention she received, the reputation, good or ill, she gained when she occasionally came out of hiding. And he knew that so long as he walked at her side, he could never make a name for himself.

It was easier with Bethany, before the Blight. Bethany too walked in the shadow of Malcolm Hawke’s prodigy child, the heir to his talents and ambitions. So long as he had someone with him there to share that malcontent – though Bethany rarely complained of Geneva – he was content to live in a world where he was not known as anything more than Hawke’s little brother.

But Bethany was gone, and with her, Carver’s resolve to remain Geneva’s little shadow. When they docked in Kirkwall, after Lothering was destroyed and Bethany killed, Carver found it more and more difficult every day to endure it. Even in the Red Iron – an outfit in which he was sure he could excel within – Geneva was always the one Meeran contacted, the one he spoke to about the more challenging jobs. Geneva always brought Carver along, but with it, there skulked behind him the knowledge that no matter what they did or where they went, so long as they were together, Carver would only ever be the sidekick.

But there were few opportunities in which people wanted to take on the younger Hawke as their own apprentice – none of which Carver found to be anything more than dead-end errand-boy jobs or shithole mining jobs. He may have been Fereldan, but he aspired to be more than some Kirkwaller’s whipping boy.

It was when the storm came through the Waking Sea, the one that shipwrecked the Qunari, the one that would bring Geneva Hawke her destiny in the city-state, that Carver’s own beacon of hope came. She was a scraggly thing, small and battered and starving, but Leandra Hawke, against the wishes of her brother, took in a young woman named Tony. “The dockworkers fished her out of the harbor,” Leandra explained as she wrapped the girl up in a blanket. “They foisted her off on me while I was perusing the fish market.” She said it like it was a burden, but the light in her eyes demonstrated her intent to keep the girl until she was well again. Neither Geneva or Carver said so, but they knew Leandra was trying to replace their dead sister. It had been five months since Lothering at that point, and Leandra had only then been able to sleep at night without fitful tears.

She was given a mattress to sleep on, down on the floor in the corner of the bedroom that the Hawkes shared – Gamlen slept in the main room, in his chair, which was likely why he was always so cranky. For three days, she slept and ate her meals without a word to anyone, only slinking away when the lights got too bright or when Gamlen started shouting. Then, on the fourth day, she spoke. “Who…who am I?” And while her confusion crushed Leandra’s already broken heart, steadfast Geneva steadied the girl.

“You mean you don’t remember?” Carver’s bitter heart wished he’d asked it first, but when the girl shook her head and began to cry, Carver’s resentments all but faded into the background. “Do you remember anything at all?” She looked up at Carver through her angry tears, and whispered, “I…I think…I think my name is Tony.” The way she looked at him…Andraste, he didn’t know, but suddenly he felt very needed.

In hushed tones, he asked, “Is there anything else?” She shook her head, eyes cast away as she rubbed her head.

“No. Can I have something for my head, please?” Of course her head hurt. That was likely the cause of her memory loss. Geneva stood to root around in her trunk. She produced an elfroot tincture, and shooed Carver out.

When Carver glared to protest, she firmly stated, “The girl needs rest. You won’t do her any favors by gawping at her. Go down to the market and get some of that mulled wine Gamlen likes so much. I can mix some of this in with it to make it taste a little better. And if you would, get me a stock bone and some greens. We need to get her healthy again.” Carver stood his ground.

“And what about you? What will you do?” Geneva pulled out a lyrium potion from her pocket. Carver clenched his jaw. “You have been into Meeran’s smuggled lyrium.” Geneva glared back.

She snapped, “Do you want her better or not?” Carver looked behind her. Tony had curled up into a ball, her hand fisted on her temple. She looked so small.

He sighed. “Fine. I need some silver though.” Geneva gave him a gold piece.

“Now go, and quickly. I will do what I can here.” Carver threw on his cloak – a Satinalia gift his mother and sister had pitched in to buy for him – and headed out.

 

Tony watched as the boy left. No, not boy. Boys were small and yappy, with mud pies and sticks in hand and mischievous gleams in their eyes. That much, she recalled. The one they called Carver – he was a man, if only just. There was worry on his face, etched into his brow. There was concern and a fire in his eyes when he spoke to his sister, a serious inflection in his voice. He looked like one who had to grow up far too fast.

It had been looking at him that she had remembered her nickname. A childhood name, used by…someone. A sibling? A friend? A cousin? She wasn’t sure.

He left after his sister sent him away – Geneva, a mage. That seemed to bother a lot of people in this city, but she did not feel bothered by it at all. She must have come from somewhere that mages were not so feared.

Geneva placed a hand on her forehead. “You are burning up.” She spread her hand and clenched it, and Tony saw frost tint her hand in a blue glow of magic. Geneva placed her hand gingerly on Tony’s neck, and Tony felt a little better for it. The ice seemed to slow the pace of the throbbing in her head. Blue turned to a greener shade, and suddenly the fever was gone. But Tony still could not remember anything.

“Can’t you do something for my memories?” Geneva gave her a small, sad smile.

“I am afraid I never had the benefit of learning those kind of spells, if there are any…living as an apostate often limits what you can do with your magic. I wouldn’t know where to start or how my magic might affect you if I tried…” Tony’s heart burned. Was there no hope? Was she meant to be lost forever?

“So I am stuck being your stray?” Her words seemed to wound Geneva.

She whispered, “I am sorry, Tony. There is not much else I can do for you.” When Carver returned, Tony had shut down emotionally. She didn’t know what it was – numb, hollow, fatigued – but her heart felt a lifeless, hopeless thing. She drank her tonic, ate her soup, and laid in her bed, despair curling and licking at her mind like a rabid dog.

 

Carver watched for days after that as Tony healed. Soon, she was getting up and going out – Gen took her to Hightown to look into jobs, for their indentured servitude to the Red Iron was due to end. Geneva had heard word on a smuggling job – Carver had too many memories of the ship from Gwaren to feel good about smuggling on the Waking Sea. And as much as he’d heard of the raiders, he preferred something a little less…illegal. As long as he was going to be walking with Gen, he’d prefer not to attract the attention of the law – and, by extension, the templars. He would never say it, but the last thing he wanted was to lose Geneva to Kirkwall’s Circle – the things he was hearing from the talk in town, he didn’t like the sound of how the templars ran it.

And now he had something else that more and more he felt responsible to – while Tony spoke infrequently, having little to talk about and less she was curious about, when she did speak, Carver listened. And he hated to admit to it as well, but he was not the world’s best listener. People usually talked at him instead of to him, and that held no interest to him. But Tony spoke as though she was trying to build a bridge out of straw and mud – though she was brusque and terse, her voice held a lonely poignancy that awoke a kindred feeling in his own heart. She was not addressing the little Hawke who was only as useful as his older sister said he was. She was addressing Carver, the soldier, the forgotten child, and though their loneliness was made differently in each case, there was a common ground he’d not shared with anyone since Bethany had died.

It frightened him, truly. It heralded a new era for Carver, an era he wasn’t sure he was ready for, a day that demanded his full-fledging, a coming of age out of his comfort zone.

But in Tony’s eyes, for one moment in time, he stepped out of the shadows. And for that, he was willing to risk a little of his comfort.

 

Tony woke one night with chills. She had done well for herself that day – she’d looked for work, and having found none for a stray with a Fereldan accent, she’d gone down to the wharf and had bought some fish heads to make stock – Leandra had plans to make soup, and Tony had decided it was about time to start pitching in. But dreams chased and evaded her both, like the specter in the corner of your eye that disappears when you turn to look. She knew she was dreaming of something familiar, but it collapsed once she tried to see it in her waking hours.

The start she made when she woke did not wake anyone else, or so she hoped, but she wished that it had. She wished she had someone to comfort her. Geneva did as best she could, but she was always busy, running around like she had some great purpose – really, she was just filling her hours, keeping busy to avoid the lull of home.

Tony liked the lull. She liked curling up next to Briar and scratching his ear. He had taken quite a liking to her – she must have been Fereldan if the mabari liked her – and she would listen to Leandra talk of days in Lothering, of Bethany, and of Malcolm Hawke. She even listened to Gamlen mutter on about the refugees and the debts he had yet to pay, happy to be focused on someone else’s life. Seeing as hers was lost to her…

She stood in the black of night, shivering, and picked up her blanket to wrap around her body. How she longed to remember what was eluding her in the Fade, to reclaim her life, and return. She knew where she lived was a hovel, that people did much better. She knew that once she had lived quite comfortably, and that the concept of a room of her own was not a foreign one.

The ring on her forefinger, a small signet ring, was the only clue she had, and none of the Hawkes could place it – only Gamlen seemed to think that it belonged to one of the coastal clans in Ferelden, and he could not think of the name, only that they were noble and that they bred notorious raiders.

She stoked the fire in the living room – Gamlen was out again, Maker knew where, so she did not concern herself with waking anyone except the dog. Soon, it was warm again, and she sat before it and tried her damnedest to remember.

There was a shuffling behind her, and she started again. Carver stood over her, frowning at her. “Oh…” she whispered. “I had not intended to wake anyone.” He sat next to her without asking, which bothered her some. He would only distract her – she _needed_ to remember.

He tightened his arms around his knees, to look away. So he was going to at least be quiet, she wondered. Perhaps he won’t be such a nuisance after all.

The silence did not last, however. “Are you all right?” She pressed her lips together.

“How would you feel if you could not remember your life? If you were stuck somewhere, lost from that which you knew, and unable to make it back? Think about what that would feel like, and you will have your answer.” Her response was meant to be snappish, but instead it came out mournful.

A hand covered hers, and though her instinct was to retract it, when she looked up in Carver’s hazel eyes, the violent need for space revoked itself. She did not return the gesture, but looked into the small fire as he soulfully looked on. Watching her, he was always watching her with such intensity, as though she was a barrel of gaatlok set to explode.

Gaatlok… “My grandfather was a raider,” she whispered. “I just remembered. He intercepted Orlesian cargo ships during the Occupation.” Carver’s hand tightened.

“Do you remember anything else?” She did. Her grandfather was big…a giant, with a large bushy beard. She sat on his knee as he bellowed his laugh and tickled her feet.

“He…he loved me. He played with me…” Darkness and emptiness were all that followed the precious memory. A tear rolled down her cheek. “I don’t want to be a stray anymore. I want to belong somewhere.” And the ache of it, the ache of not knowing burned her up inside, hollowed her out like an old tree wasted with beetles.

 

Though Tony couldn’t fathom it, though she was too wound up in her loss and her loneliness to see, and though he would never speak it for fear of being laughed at or frightening her away, Carver wanted to tell her as he held her hand tight in his:

Though it wasn’t what she was hoping for, she could belong with him if she wanted.

Instead they sat there, her hand in Carver’s, her eyes shut tight to stymie tears that would not end, and the fire crackling in muted warmth as they sat in Gamlen’s hovel, two lonely hearts with no happy ending in sight.


	2. As You Watch Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony starts to find her role in the Amell/Hawke household, but is met suddenly with a funny feeling about the youngest Hawke.

Tony walked at Leandra’s side through the Lowtown market. She had seen the cloud of gloom hovering over Tony’s head, and had dragged her out, wrapping one of her shawl’s around her shoulders. Tony acquiesced only because she didn’t have any excuse to stay. So Leandra meandered through the Tuesday food market, basket in one hand and Tony’s arm looped through hers, her eye roving and wandering, looking for what she could make for dinner.

Greens went into the basket, some roots, and then Leandra stopped at one of the fish merchants. “Some of your spare fishheads, please.” The sly look the man behind the table gave Leandra set Tony’s teeth gritting.

He boomed, “Sure, love! That’ll be 15 silver!” Leandra put her hand to her throat demurely.

“My,” she remarked shyly. “That is quite a lot for scraps, don’t you think?” The man smiled, his teeth gleaming like a wolf’s.

“My fish are fresh, madam, and nothing comes without a price.” He gave Tony a once-over. “Though, if your pretty little flower here agreed to come work for me, I might give you a discount.”

What _nerve_. “Her _pretty flower_ is not a bargaining chip, messere,” Tony snapped, catching Leandra’s attention. She placed a hand on Tony's wrist.

“Now, now, dear, perhaps he’s not worth-” But the man wouldn't let it drop.

He interrupted. “No, not with that mouth, you’re not. Someone ought to teach you some manners, little girl.” And that was it. She'd not take such language in her direction. Tony ripped her hand from Leandra’s grasp and confronted him, rounding his table and shoving him back hard. “ _Hey!_ ” He raised his hand, but Tony grabbed the filleting knife haphazardly left by the cod on display, and before his hand could fly, the blade was pressed against his carotid.

Tony glared. “For the trouble you have caused me and my host, you will not only sell her the fish heads she asked for in exchange for 15 copper, but you will also give her your best trout fillet for half a silver, as well as your word that you will never try to connive her or her kin out of their precious earned coin again.” The merchant sneered at her, and scoffed.

“Fine, have it your way, you dog-lord bi-” The blade pressed harder, and a pearl of blood broke from the seal of his skin. “I…I mean…have it your way.” She set the knife back on the table, and Leandra, looking quite skittish and close to tears, gave the man his coin. He wrapped up the fish carefully, eyes on Tony, who was waiting patiently for him to honor their agreement. He then addressed Leandra. “I apologize, ma’am, for my uncouth tongue. You’ll not be party to anymore of my…inflating.” Leandra scooped up her treasures and curtsied.

“Thank you, serah. I trust you to keep your word.” She then turned to leave, and Tony walked right behind her, her scowl fixed on the man until she passed him by. Leandra took her hand gently in hers. “My dear Tony, that was awfully bold of you. I am glad you did it, but please try not to make a habit of it. We would like to have some of the merchants at least not know us for our Fereldan obstinance.” Tony gripped a little tighter on Leandra and nodded. “There’s a good girl. Now, let’s go find us some bread to mop up our bowls.”

* * *

 

Carver was out in the little square in front of their house with his sword, training on a figure he had built himself from scrap wood and nails he’d found in the foundry district. No one had batted an eye when he had made off with it, so he assumed no one would care. Now the thing was dented and beaten – he was going to have to rebuild the damn thing if he didn’t learn some finesse. His captain at Ostagar had remarked that he was quite the bruiser – not that he much cared to think about Ostagar. He had cried as his mates had dragged him off the field, watching as Ishal burned and no one came to their rescue. He prayed the men responsible for such a defeat were repaid in kind.

The funny thing was that when he thought of Ostagar, his swings were wider, his hits were more destructive, and he fought harder. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

He was sweating and panting when his mother returned from the market, his shirt off to the side, and the sun beat down his brow as he lunged and swept and smashed. He gave a short ‘hello’ to his mother, and when she passed him by, someone else did too.

Brown eyes met his, wide and observing. “Tony!” He jumped at the sight of her. He had guessed her to be inside as she usually was. “I-I didn’t realize you went out with Mother.” She raised an eyebrow and sidled past him.

A half-smile tugged at her lips. “She gave me little choice in the matter – it proved to benefit her in the end.” She walked up the stairs to their front door and followed Leandra inside, leaving Carver feeling very perplexed.

“What does that mean?” he called after, but by the time the question left his lips, the door was already shut. Carver snorted. _Fine_ , he thought. _I’ll just go back to banging shit around._

* * *

 

Tony had not expected to come home to what she had seen. Carver, standing in the sun, the sweat on his shoulders glistening, his pectorals and _his biceps_ straining under his skin as he bashed the living Void out of the makeshift dummy. She had done all she could to keep calm and not melt at the sight of it, but _Maker_ , he was pretty. How had she not seen it before?

Leandra distracted her from her daydreams. “All right, my dear, let’s see you wash these greens – Maker knows Gavin doesn’t wash them very well when he puts them out on his stand. Then bring them back and cut them up for the soup. I will set on making the stock, and I’ll peel the parsnips.” She set a bowl of the greens – parsley and spring onions, chives and thyme – in Tony’s hands and shooed her out. Tony wanted to protest, but how could she tell Leandra that she didn’t want to go back outside for fear of blushing at the sight of her _son_?

But when she walked outside, she found that he was nowhere to be seen. Half-relieved, half-disappointed, Tony went to the water pump and washed the greens, rubbing her fingers along slender leaves to remove the dirt and grime of the harvest. She began humming to herself a song – no name to it, just a melody that felt familiar to her – and secretly wished Carver would round the corner and stop to talk to her.

It never happened. So she, nonplussed and pettily grousing to herself, took the greens back inside to prepare for the soup. Leandra’s stock was ready, and she added the greens and the parsnips and some potatoes, and Tony waited still. The soup bubbled and sang, and the house smelled of a fine home-cooked meal, and she still waited. Leandra produced a loaf of seed bread, poured out soup for the two of them, and they ate silently together – and Tony waited even then for Carver to come through the door.

By the time Carver came home, Tony was nestled in her cot, half-asleep and dreaming of his hand on hers.

* * *

 

Geneva followed Carver in the door. The pot hung off to the side of the fire – Leandra had left them some soup for when they returned. Geneva dished out food for both her and her brother. “I can feed myself, you know,” Carver gently sniped. Geneva rolled her eyes.

“Yes, I know…doesn’t mean I can’t be nice to you.” She handed him a spoon, and he dug in, slurping up the soup. Geneva was more delicate with her food.

Carver looked up from his meal. “What’s got your appetite, Sister?” She looked at him, her earthy eyes soft.

“Tony’s been awfully quiet as of late.” Carver snorted.

He remarked off-hand, “She’s always quiet.” Geneva frowned.

She snapped back, “And Aveline is right to call you a tit.” Carver didn’t flinch at the remark, an attempt to ignore her as he wolfed down his food. “She watches you when you aren’t looking.” That brought his attention fully to her.

He dropped his spoon in his bowl and furrowed his brow, confused. “What? Why would she do that?” Geneva clucked her tongue.

“Well, if you can’t see it…” And so she returned her attention to her own food, leaving Carver feeling, once more, very perplexed.

When they finally slunk into the bedroom, Tony and Leandra were fast asleep. Geneva opted to stay up. “I found a book today in the market – some spells I think might be handy.” So she kept the fire going, and Carver tucked himself in to his cot. He stole a glance at Tony – Geneva had said that she watched him. Why? What was so special about him that warranted _watching_?

Hard as he tried that night, he could not sleep, for wondering about Tony’s sudden interest in him.


	3. Family Conversations

Tony waited in the bedroom as the Hawkes and Amells argued. Gamlen, as it turned out, had been hiding the fact that he had _not_ been the beneficiary of the Amell estate as he had led Leandra to believe. Leandra, more than reasonably happy that her parents had not been angry with her before their deaths, was trying to restrain Geneva, who was bitterly accusing Gamlen of greed. “What kind of family are you when you treat your own blood with such disregard?”

“I had no way of contacting you! How was I supposed to tell her that the estate was hers?”

“And I suppose all that money you spent just happened to be your own, where Mother’s inheritance just happened to disappear?”

“It was sitting around and I had no other means! Don’t you judge me, girl!”

“You could have at least told us!”

“Geneva, dear, it’s no matter…”

“We spent a year believing that you’d been disinherited! We spent a year under the belief that we weren’t wanted, and he kept us believing!”

“Dear, it does nothing to linger on past mistakes…”

“Sister, let it go! He’s on old codger, but-”

“Now see here!”

Tony lingered, trying to drown them out with trying to remember home. She tried to think of what she might have been doing that would have shipwrecked her…the sea. The Waking Sea. Did she come from the Storm Coast? She was Fereldan, but from where in Fereldan? Had she once had a mabari? Did it miss her? And what of siblings? What of family? Was she betrothed to someone? Had she been happy? What was she doing on a ship? Was she bound for the Free Marches? Or was she some sort of raider, like Leandra had guessed?

A knock on the front door interrupted her train of thought. Footsteps stomped over to open it. “Well, hello, Hawke. Junior, if your face were any redder, I would have mistaken you for an Ostwick strawberry.”

“Varric, why don’t you go take your crossbow and shove it up-”

“Ah, ah, ah! Junior, how could you use such language in front of your mother? Those delicate ears are not made for such screechings.”

“Varric, I appreciate the sentiment, but we’ve all heard far worse from my boy.” Tony slipped into the room. Varric had been coming over to the house for two weeks now, after Geneva and Carver had gone off to inquire about a job involving Varric’s brother. Geneva had taken quite a liking to him. Carver, on the other hand…

“Just tell us why you’re here, and get on with it.” Carver looked sufficiently put out, likely due to the already heightened emotions of the previous conversation.

Varric put his hands up. “I just came to fetch your sister. I located the Warden’s clinic in Darktown, and thought she might want to come along – what do you say, Hawke?” Geneva’s face was also flushed, likely from yelling at Gamlen, who coincidentally was no longer in their company.

She reached for her staff, which had been leaning against the table. “Please. Get me out of this house.” Varric extended a hand to Carver.

“Coming, Junior?” But Carver just scowled at him.

“Not bloody likely.” Tony put a hand on her arm. They would be home, _mostly_ alone. At least Leandra would be there to-

Leandra reached for her shawl. “I should go out too. I need to see about Bella and her girls. Nevin has been away on caravan, and I promised to look after them. You all can manage for dinner, I’m sure.” Tony’s heart dropped into her stomach as Leandra slipped out for the night.

Varric looked over at Tony. “How about you, mystery girl? Would you like to come?” Carver cut in before she could answer.

“Absolutely not! She’s not going anywhere into that hole.” Varric narrowed his eyes at Carver.

“Funny how you’ll let your own flesh and blood go down to the sketchy parts of town, but suddenly it isn’t good enough for a girl who looks just as capable of handling herself…but what do I know? I’m just a surface dwarf…” Tony’s face flushed.

“I don’t think I’d be useful anyhow,” she tactfully replied. “If I had any talent with a blade, I don’t remember it.” Varric grinned anyhow.

“Listen, Tony, between you and me? I’m shit with a blade. But with an arrow…” He patted his crossbow. “I’m a veritable wizard.” Arrow. She hadn’t thought of that. And now that she did…

“Look, dwarf, she said she doesn’t think she’ll be useful. Your maps are waiting for you.”

Geneva slapped him upside the head. “They’ll be your maps too, unless I decide you are too much of a shit to take along. Stop grousing and go take a nap or something. You are being rude.” Varrc opened the door for Hawke as she threw her coat on.

“Come on, Hawke. We’ll be back in a couple hours, Junior. Try not to burn the house down.” Carver’s ears went red as he turned for the bedroom.

“Fucking arseholes,” he muttered under his breath as he sulked past Tony. She heard him flop on his cot as she turned around to face him. His face was planted in the bulk of his pillow. She folded her arms demurely, thinking of something to say.

“Seems an awful lot of fuss going on. Are…are you all right?” Carver sighed as he sat up.

He leaned back and locked his gaze onto hers. “My self-righteous sister gets her rocks off on starting fights over matters that barely concern her.” He threw his hand out, gesturing towards the door. “Which would hardly be a problem, except one of these days, she is going to attract the attention of the templars, and she’ll get hauled off and given the brand, for all the fight she has in her. She is a Hawke, after all…” His voice tapered off, tired and done with the high emotions, and turned his gaze to the floor in front of him.

Tony took a step into the room. “So are you, Carver.” His lips curled into a lop-sided smile.

“So I’m told.” He leaned forward, arms on his knees. “Someday she is going to get into a lot of trouble, and all our efforts, all the moving around and laying low will have been for nothing. All that we have passed up, all that my father forbade us from…with Bethany gone, it is a little easier, but even still, Hawke already has a reputation in Kirkwall, and we’ve only been here a year.” Tony walked over to his cot and sat next to him.

“That isn’t something you can control, Carver. She has to make that decision for herself.” Carver huffed.

“Yeah, well, so long as she doesn’t, I’m going to keep nagging her about it.” He scowled and thought for a moment. “Why do you care so much anyway?” he asked, eyes still examining the floorboards.

Tony fiddled with a loose stitch in her skirt as she tried to think of the answer. “Well…because for right now, you are the closest thing I have to family. And…” She looked down to take stock of the floorboards for herself. “I find it easy to…to care. About…you.” Movement out of the corner of her eye caught her attention, and she looked up to see Carver looking at her, surprise painted red on his cheeks. Embarrassment flushed her own face. “I mean…just don’t let it go to your head, all right?” She stood up, and headed towards the door.

“Where are you going?” She turned to see Carver sitting straight up, eyes trained on her, wide and attentive. She suddenly felt very self-conscious.

She thought of all the things she could do, and found the list to be dreadfully short. “I…thought I might take a bath. Why don’t you make yourself useful and find something for us to eat?” She hadn’t meant to snap, but the request had come out a bit more pointed than she thought it would.

Carver, however, showed no sign of minding. “All right. Mother has some potatoes in the pantry…I’ll figure something out.” As Tony went outside to fetch some water, all the way to the water pump, she chastised herself over and over and over. _Silly little fool._

* * *

Carver peeled the potatoes and sat quietly as Tony filled the tub. In and out of the house, she walked past without another word as to what had transpired between them. He was having enough trouble just making sense of it – she’d admitted that she cared, but then had immediately become defensive. His intuition told him that it meant her feelings were more than familial, but then again…no one ever thought of him that way. It was all about Geneva or Leandra, starting with his father and never ceasing. So why would Tony notice him now?

She slipped out of the bathroom to fetch a fire rune from Geneva’s stash – the one Malcolm had enchanted to be activated on verbal command, for his girls and slipped back in. There were a few benefits to having lived with mages all of his life – somethings were ever so much more convenient.

Carver heard the sound of water splashing in the basin, and tried very hard _not_ to think about Tony’s naked body in the bath – not that he’d ever really given it much thought as to what she’d looked like before, but suddenly he was curious. She was a little thing, but she seemed filled out enough...light brown eyes and dark blonde hair, with her fair skin, made her look somewhat plain, but those eyes pierced wherever they pointed, and her body was all limbs - she looked like she could move in all kinds of lovely ways. Maybe she had a nice arse under those skirts she wore...

Curious as he was, he wasn’t going to be a lothario to a girl who was _living_ with them. Had it been different – like with Peaches, who had lived a few farms over from them in Lothering – he might have been more forward. But under the nose of his mother and goody-two-shoes sister, he was not going to risk any risky behavior. If Tony wanted something, as Geneva had insinuated, she would have to come to him.

* * *

 Dinner was a potato stew, Tony discovered when she finally emerged from the bath. Carver had not done poorly, as she might have otherwise expected. He’d used the good seasoning salt, and had added plenty of colors to the stew, for a good, hearty meal. It likely could have benefited from some salted pork or a broth bone, but she was not going to complain.

She finished her meal quickly, and headed to the bedroom, where she changed quickly into a nightgown. She tucked herself in, and as she was wondering when Carver would come to bed, she heard the front door open. Boots stomped around the house, and the sigh of an exasperated younger brother echoed in the house.

“Find the Warden then?”

“I did. Varric is keeping the maps in his room at the Hanged Man for safe keeping. Was everything all right here?”

“Oh, you know, the usual. I cooked dinner, Tony was quiet and aloof, and generally it was a quiet night.” Tony sucked her breath in at the sound of her name.

“Is she asleep?”

“I guess.”

“You know she likes you.”

“I don’t know if she’s made her mind up on how much.”

“Varric thinks she might know her way around a bow. We’re going to invite her out to go practice at the barracks…see if that awakens anything in her memory.” Why hadn’t she thought of that?

Carver didn’t seem to have much of an opinion on that. “Mmm.”

“Would you like to come?”

“I’m shite with a bow.” Tony could practically _hear_ Gen roll her eyes.

“Yes, we all know you would rather bludgeon shit to death than actually commit to any real skill.”

“You take that back!” Oh no. Not this again…

“Don’t be so sensitive, Carver. Anyways, you can come to watch or to try and socialize, should you feel so inclined.” Tony heard the scrape of a chair on the floor. Geneva’s tone shifted to burning curiosity. “So. Did she say anything to you?” ‘She’ meant Tony. She leaned up to listen for the answer.

“It’s none of your business.” Carver sounded rather defensive, and Tony could not help but sit up to hear better. He sounded like he had something to hide, and that could prove to be in her favor.

Geneva sighed. “Carver, you always say you have no one who pays you any attention. She could be good for you.”

“Or she could be bloody trouble! She _lives_ with us! You honestly think I could go around rutting her while Mother is about? Or worse, _Gamlen_?” Tony scrunched up her nose and scowled. No one had said anything about rutting!

“No one said anything about rutting the girl.” At least someone had their head on straight! “But you need someone on your side for once. It would be good for you to have friends of your own.” Tony was not quite sure she _wanted_ to be his friend if all she was to him was a pair of legs to spread.

She barely made out a mumbled, “Varric’s my friend.”

“Don’t lie to me. You hate Varric.”

“Only when he’s talking down to me.”

“Which, if you are to be believed, is all the time.” A chair scraped across the floor.

“You know what? You’re right. I’m going to go make some friends right now.”

“Carver, you know Mother doesn’t like you going to the Rose…” The _Rose_?!

Hoping he would deny going, Tony found herself quickly disappointed. “Mother isn’t here, and if you tell her, I will tell her you called me a friendless little nobody and sent me into a tailspin of emotions.”

“She will never believe that! You would sooner break your blade than admit to feelings!” Bootsteps across the main room thudded heavier this time, and the door opened again. “Yes, well, I’m a grown man and may do as I please, so whatever you all think you can do about it…you can’t!” The door slammed shut.

Tony laid back in her bed, her eyes stinging as Hawke swore under her breath. A clay bowl clattered on the table against a spoon, and she guessed Hawke was serving herself some soup. Oh, stupid Carver! She didn’t know for why she was cross at him more: for reducing her to some sexual opportunity or for going out to the Rose and possibly sleeping with someone else. Tears spilled on her face, running over her cheeks. Why had she let herself get this involved so quickly?

What felt like ages past, and Tony felt no better when Hawke finally opened the door to settle down for the night. She closed her eyes, feigning sleep, and Geneva rustled around, changing into sleeping clothes herself. “Stupid boy…I wish he could see,” she whispered. Tony stayed still, but still she thought as though she were answering: so do I.

So do I.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who the fuck names their child 'Peaches'?


End file.
